Possibility — Meditatio Ephemera

I consider the comforts of the ruminating mind: the familiar terrain, the polished and smooth paths, the assurance against surprise, or ambush. And then: the constricted vision, the paucity of imagination. That dreary, circular deadness which, after a time, becomes an imitation of life. I think of the leaden days and fitful nights we languish in cells of our own making.

via Possibility — Meditatio Ephemera


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